


Miss Fawcett and Susie Q go dancing

by darkandstormyslash



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Crossdressing, Drag Club, Drinking, M/M, Offscreen blowjobs, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mild prostitution, one tiny almost-slur, references to parental violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27004897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: Every Friday, Billy and Steve get dressed up and head out to the Only Drag Club In Nowhere Indiana.It's become something of a routine.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Miss Fawcett and Susie Q go dancing

“I know I shouldn’t complain…” Steve complains, staring at the mirror with his mouth open as he carefully flicks mascara over his lashes, “But it’s just like he’s given up, y’know? I mean it wasn’t fun when he grounded me all the time, but at least it felt like he  _ cared _ . Like he knew I was there. Now I’m just a ghost.”

He finishes the left eye and gives a sideways glance at Billy, who’s leaning against the inside of the bathroom door to stop anyone else entering. Unlike Steve, the only makeup Billy is wearing is a slash of red lipstick, obscenely bright. When Steve dresses up he always tries to make himself look more feminine, right now he’s in a ruffled shiny minidress in a shocking shade of fuchsia with matching eyeshadow. Billy is wearing a leather miniskirt and a knitted off-the-shoulder sweater, but he still looks very, very masculine. Maybe it’s the bruises clustered over his collarbone, the big chunky boots he’s wearing, or the fact that he’s made no effort to shave either his legs or the peach-fuzz mustache. It makes the feminine aspects of him, the curve of his ass and the blond halo of his hair, seem more intense and exciting. Steve is a little jealous.

“Of course you shouldn’t fucking complain.” Billy sneers around his cigarette. “So he ignores you. Big deal. Last time my dad saw me in a skirt he broke my fucking arm.”

That’s why they change in the truck-stop toilets now. Steve sighs, flicking mascara over the other eye and then blinking rapidly at the mirror. “Okay, do they both match?”

“Who gives a shit?”

Steve gives him a pouty glance in the mirror, “If I’m going to do this, I might as well do it properly. Does it look okay?”

Billy leers at him, “I’d fuck you.”

It isn’t the answer he was looking for, but Steve is more than happy to take it. He likes the idea that Billy finds him fuckable, even if they have an agreement between them that they will  _ not _ get into any kind of relationship with each other. Fucking is very much included in that. It isn’t so much about safety, as the sheer goddam  _ awkwardness _ that would likely result. Billy’s car is the only way Steve can get himself drunk at the Only Drag Club In Nowhere Indiana and it’s a good two hour drive to get there. That’s a long time to spend in close proximity to someone you may or may not have recently broken up with. 

It’s something of a Friday night routine. Billy keeps his mini-skirt hidden under the spare tire and picks up Steve in the woods round the back of his house. They drive to the truck-stop, glam up, then head to the club. Tonight, the road is clear, and Steve rests his head against the side of the window, careful not to smudge his makeup. He feels a giddy rush of freedom, of excitement. It started off as a game, a bit of play-acting for Friday evenings. Now it’s starting to feel like the only time he  _ isn’t _ acting. For one night, he’s a pretty girl in a glamorous dress, dancing without a care in the world. And if he’s being driven in an open-topped car, by a scowling punk in bruises and leather, then so much the better.

It’s dark by the time they reach the club; a small nondescript building in a small nondescript town. Steve staggers over wonky tarmac and discarded beer cans on his high-heeled shoes until Billy wraps an arm around his waist.

“Careful there, Princess.”

“Are you gonna stay with me and dance tonight?” Steve asks tetchily, annoyed at himself for almost falling and annoyed at Billy for being unbearably sexy about it, “Or are you gonna slope off to the bathrooms and turn tricks again?”

“We ain’t all born rich, Harrington.”

“You are going to get us thrown out.” Steve snaps, “If you get barred I won’t be able to come back.”

“They won’t bar me for giving blow-jobs round the back of a gay club.” Billy sneers, giving a tight little pinch where his hand is resting on Steve’s waist. “You disappoint your daddy in your way, Harrington, let me get on with disappointing mine.”

The guy on the door recognizes them by now, giving a nod as they walk past and inside. One of the many advantages of makeup, Steve has found, is that it makes him look old enough to drink. Or maybe the bartender here figures anyone able to get themselves to a secret club in drag deserves a drink. Billy slouches off towards the bathrooms and Steve gives a sigh after him, heels clicking over to the bar where he slides himself onto a stool.

“Hey there Miss Fawcett.” The barman nods, “The usual?”

Steve gives a giggle. The word ‘miss’ sends a spark right through him, a happy little flip of excitement that somehow makes the entire dumb day and the entire dumb week worthwhile. He wants to hold onto the feeling for as long as he can. “Yes please, John.” He answers, high-pitched and a little breathless. “Seeing as there’s nobody here to buy me a drink.”

The barman laughs, “Someone will come along soon enough. They usually do, hmm?”

The place is already quite full, and it hums and buzzes with an energy that just doesn’t exist in Hawkins. Steve’s made a few friends, but he can’t see any of them have arrived yet and he’s still not entirely comfortable getting too close to people. There’s the nagging worry at the back of his mind that people might find out, worst of all Billy’s dad. The friends he makes here are ephemeral - deeply loved but fleetingly temporary. Here in this bar he is Miss Fawcett, and doesn’t have to pretend to be Steve.

The barman slides a Blue Hawaiian across the bar and Steve digs some money out of his purse, glancing behind him to check if Billy is anywhere near and might need a drink. The barman notices the glance and raises an eyebrow, “Drink for your friend?”

“Uh … not right now.”

“Yeah, he shouldn’t be doing that in the bathrooms. This isn’t that kind of place.”

Steve flushes bright red. “I-I know.”

“You know, and I know. Make sure he knows.” The barman softens the words with a smile, “Look, you’re good kids, and me and the boss are both pleased you’ve found a place you can be yourselves. But we’re trying to be a classy drinking establishment, not a dive for underage rent-boys.”

“I don’t want him doing it either.” Steve snaps, his embarrassment and worry turning itself into bitchy anger. “I can’t control what he does, man, nobody can.”

The bad temper fades as he finishes his drink, dissipating further as he dances. Some of the friends he recognizes arrive. They all do shots together, then dance even more. The club gets fuller, the colored lights brighter, and the smoke machine coughs out a few attempts which seems incredibly funny. When Billy slopes into the dance room, lipstick all but wiped away, Steve wraps warm arms around his shoulders and hugs him close. Billy is here, and Billy is beautiful. 

“You’ve been drinking, you hot little slut.” Billy murmurs in his ear. 

“Yeah, and now I’m dancing. You want one?”

“Fuck yes.”

The two of them stagger over to the bar together, where Steve orders another Blue Hawaiian and a Whiskey Sour for Billy. The barman is too busy to do more than give Billy a warning shake of the head as he hands the drinks over. They clink the glasses together gently, two girls on a night out, and Billy’s mouth starts to quirk up for the first time that evening. 

“Fancy a dance, Miss Fawcett?”

Billy’s arms are firm and tight around his body, his nearness a comforting presence. The dance floor sways and moves with the music as Steve hangs his drunken self onto the warm body in front of him. He can’t remember now, why it is that they can’t get closer. Why shouldn’t they fall in love? Why shouldn’t they fuck? Why is every other loose-moraled queer in the vicinity allowed to shove their dick down Billy’s throat while Steve can’t even kiss him?

The dance floor lurches again, and Steve lets himself land against Billy’s sweater, hands sliding around his waist, “Bil - Susie, I - listen…”

“Shh…” Billy strokes his hair fondly. “Don’t make me turn you down, baby, because I’m not sure I can.”

“Would it be so bad?” Steve whispers.

“You are so damn drunk, Miss Blue Hawaiian. I don’t fuck drunk chicks. It ain’t right.” 

They dance together until the evening is over. The music stops, the barman closes up and the lights turn unnaturally bright. Steve staggers out and vomits inelegantly in a back-alley while Billy sobers himself down on coca-cola and cigarettes. The drive back is a strange dizzy whirl as Steve tries to keep the drinks down and to reorient himself. They stop at the truck stop as the sun starts to rise, but neither of them can face getting out of the car. Steve watches, with a small smile on his face, as Billy shrugs off the sweater, unzips his skirt, then swears and struggles his way back into jeans and a white vest. He pretends not to notice the money folded away into the side of Billy’s leopard-print panties.

The last of the lipstick vanishes across the back of Billy’s hand. Steve reaches across gently and lays a sloppy kiss on the side of his cheek.

“You look like you got lucky tonight, Hargrove.” He murmurs.

Billy gives a snort, “Certainly smell like it. You going to get back into civvies?”

The very idea of trying to manhandle himself out of the dress and into something more acceptable is exhausting. His father never comments now when he sees Steve in drag, just sets his face into a disappointing frown and looks away. In a way it’s freeing. Steve finds himself doing it more often, throwing a girls sweater over his polo shirt, or lounging in a pair of soft pink slippers. 

“I’ll be okay.” He answers, snuggling in against Billy’s arm, and giving a lazy smile as Billy shakes him off so he can drive. “Just drop me off in the woods.”

“Don’t blame me if you get ravished by a bear then.”

“I won’t, baby.”

Billy’s quiet as they drive back. He parks as close to Steve’s house as he dares, and even gets out the car to open the door for him, making sure he can stand upright and move himself. Steve kicks off his heels and holds them, taking a breath of the cold early-morning air and setting his shoulders.

“Stay safe Miss Fawcett.” Billy murmurs, landing a gentle kiss on the side of his lips. It doesn’t occur to Steve until too late that if he’d just turned his head, just a little, their lips would have met.

It’s probably best that they didn’t. The taste of sickly cocktails going the wrong way is still sour on his tongue. Steve blows a kiss, does a final giggle for the evening, then staggers back into the house to collapse into bed.


End file.
